


untangle the strings from your heart, from your soul

by aswarmofbees



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4271991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aswarmofbees/pseuds/aswarmofbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kasamatsu is someone gifted with the ability to see Strings of Fate between soulmates. However, when Kise Ryouta stumbles into his shop and subsequently his life with a job to find his lost soulmate, he really wishes his gift had come with a receipt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aka me finding every excuse to write a soulmate au w/ aromantics and my otp
> 
> i was thinking abt making a prologue to kinda explain some stuff?? but i figured it’d be easier to take in if it was just slowly littered throughout the chapters, as opposed to an immediate info dump right off the bat. some ppl can pull it off but i don't think i can tbh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yukio doesn't get paid nearly enough for this.

Kasamatsu Yukio is a lot of things.

He’s an exceptional leader, for starters. He knows how to guide the misguided, to serve as the light at the end of the tunnel and the shoulders to carry miscellaneous weight others have trouble managing. He can organize things well, and his room may sometimes settle into a catastrophe of dirty clothes and miscellaneous dishes, but publicly he makes sure to be clean and presentable.

Unfortunately, he was not, is not, nor will he probably ever be in the foreseeable future a person graced with exceptional social etiquette.

“Sir, I understand your concerns,” Yukio tries, placatingly. He raises his hands slowly, a gesture he hopes isn’t misconstrued as anything other than a plea for compromise. “This service isn’t an exact science, but if you--”

“An exact science, he says!” the man titters back loudly, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperated anger. The exaggerated eye roll he gives along with the mockery in his voice both have Yukio trying to force away the growing angry tension between his brows.

“...Yes,” he tries, putting significant effort into keeping his jaw from setting. He knows to respect those older than him, but he can only take getting screamed at so many times before he loses his grip on his already less than ideal temper. “It’s not always accurate, becau-”

“Well I can tell _now_ that it isn’t accurate!” he booms, the beginning of his sentence carelessly disregarding the end of his own. “The service I paid you for was to find my _soulmate!_ And what do I get in return? A waste of money and some excuse for why this was a failure and why _you still haven’t found my soulmate!”_

“Sir, as I’ve said, this isn’t an exact science, there was no definite possibility of--”

“Enough of your excuses!”

“Is everything okay in here?”

Yukio sighs heavily, for once relieved to hear his friend’s voice nearby.

“Everything’s fine, Yoshitaka,” he manages to say, peering behind his dissatisfied client. Yoshitaka is at the entrance of the store, slowly closing the door behind him as he stares at Yukio. Stubbornly and at his wits end, he raises his eyes back up to the customer. “We were just trading pleasant conversation.”

The other sneers down at him, but backs off, knowing that causing any bigger of a scene with another person around definitely won’t be the best option.

Instead, he spits directly at his face, and it’s not so much surprising as it is sudden, enough for him to jerk slightly in response, his eyes squeezing shut. He hears the man storm out, promising a lawsuit and a quiet utterance of bodily harm.

“The world would be a better place without you people and your useless Vision.”

The door slams shut, and the stiff sound of silence and the soft clicking of the clock follows.

“Well that certainly went well.”

Yukio scoffs, turning around to find something to wipe his face, but Yoshitaka is already pressing a cloth into his hand before he can even fully face the other way. He wonders how he got to him so quickly.

“That’s not even the worst I’ve had,” he says after harshly scrubbing his face clean, crumpling the handkerchief with a scowl and tossing it angrily into the trash. He tries anyway, but instead it lands directly on the edge of the long counter, next to the register. It does wonders for his already sour mood.

“I know,” Yoshitaka says quietly, with an uncharacteristic lack of any additional comments.

Yukio furrows his brows, but before he has any time to comment his friend is already throwing himself into Yukio’s chair behind the counter, loudly and heavily in a way that has him grimacing for the waning sturdiness left in his old piece of furniture.

“So, what happened this time?” he asks conversationally, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Things didn’t turn out the way he wanted? He got mad that he had to pay money?”

“You’re buying me a new one when you break that,” Yukio says instead, nose crinkling when Yoshitaka kicks his feet up and tilts backward in a way a chair like that should _not_ be tilted. It gives a horrifying creak that has Yukio immediately darting over and shooing him away. “Get out of my--get out!”

He presses his foot against the arm until Yoshitaka all but tumbles out with a yelp, quickly plopping into it himself sideways, his knees hooked over one arm while his back rests against the other. It’s not the most comfortable position, and the wooden arm presses unpleasantly into the knobs of his spine, but he’s too tired to bother with moving again.

“You say that like you’re not just as bad with it,” Yoshitaka adds with a huff, like he isn’t trying to catch his breath after the mild heart attack he just had. He tosses his hair so it falls away from his eyes. “I flipped the sign to ‘closed’, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Wow,” Yukio comments airily, “and here I thought you were completely useless.”

He gives an indignant gasp, his face twisting into a disgusting exaggeration of offense. It manages to make him smile, somehow. For a second anyway.

“He didn’t seem to grasp that Seeing is complicated,” Yukio explains with a frown, shifting down until he can hang his neck over the curve of the arm. He allows his eyes to close.

“I mean, there’s a lot of reasons why you may not have any Strings of Fate. You could just not be destined for a soulmate. Someone else could have severed your Path, which would destroy their connection to everyone else involved whether they all wanted it or not. It’s not like it’s this simple job everyone makes it out to be.”

He groans, pressing his hand over his eyes and the headache growing behind them. “I really hate having Vision, hate Seeing. It doesn’t even pay well, and most people hate you.”

The bell above his door jingles suddenly, abruptly cutting off whatever conversation may have followed. He glances over to the entrance of his shop, confused, since, if Yoshitaka was being truthful, his sign should say that they’re closed for the day and he most certainly shouldn’t be getting any more customers.

The man that comes in doesn’t seem to pay Yukio or Yoshitaka any attention, instead directing his gaze around the shop in wonder, giving it the same intrigued, starry-eyed gaze he’s used to getting from every person that braves a walk through the doors.

He’s… really tall. Tall with soft blond hair that settles against the back of his neck and flops over his forehead, neatly somehow. Yukio wonders how he can see beneath it.

“We’re closed for the day,” Yukio says with a hint of annoyance, maneuvering himself to sit properly. He frowns and settles his chin into his palm, elbow firmly on the counter before him. “Didn’t you read the sign?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead indulging himself in wandering further into the shop. Yukio narrows his eyes, silently beginning to bristle at being so flippantly ignored. He’s about to snap something at him when the new arrival hums thoughtfully, brushing the tips of his fingers along the shelves of miscellaneous knick-knacks lining the walls.

“Wow,” he breathes in amazement, picking up a random snow globe nestled in the corner of the shelf. He shakes it and watches the flakes scatter about with a sense of wonder that really shouldn’t be warranted for an ordinary snow globe. “This stuff is so cool!”

It really isn’t--they’re just random shitty things that people seem to enjoy paying for (maybe just to gloat ‘I bought this from a _Seeker!’_ as if that amplifies the value any. It doesn’t), and Yukio can always do with some more income. Not to mention the loud, bubbly tone in the customer’s voice bothers Yukio more than it should. He just wants to go to sleep, not struggle to persuade another stranger to leave his shop.

Hopefully, this blond one won’t be too much trouble.

Yukio is doubtful.

“The shop _is_ closed, though,” Yoshitaka comments as he puts down the globe only to pick up something else and play with it. “You’re more than welcome to come back tomorrow and buy to your hearts content! I’m sure Yukio would just love the company.”

Yukio snorts unattractively, shoving his friend off of where he had just settled to sit on top of the shop’s counter, discreetly trying to raise his foot so he could rest it on the wooden chair Yukio is sitting on.

“Since when do you work here?” he grumbles, raising his eyebrows as Yoshitaka manages to gracefully land. “You’re acting like a salesperson.”

“Well, someone should; it’s not like you’re putting any pep in this place.”

Yoshitaka wisely darts away immediately after that remark, just narrowly avoiding Yukio punching him in the shoulder.

“Yukio?”

Yukio jerks his head around in shock, because there are only two people in the world besides family that know him well enough to use address him so casually, and it’s certainly not the random stranger who just strolled through his door.

He glares at him. “Do I know you?” he asks as he rises out of his chair, sounding as irritated as he looks.

The other blinks in surprise, his ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering. “Ah, Kasamatsu Yukio-san?” he clarifies, placing the trinket he had been holding back where it originally was. He bows politely. “Sorry, I was just wondering if that’s who you were, since I was told this is where you worked.”

Yukio stutters to a halt, his mind quickly transitioning through the seven stages of grief. That’s... probably the worst thing he could have heard before the day ended.

Having an unknown customer enter his shop and inform him that they were sent here by someone is nearly always a bad thing. They could be an angry client who was unsatisfied with his work and _charitable_ enough to inform him just how unsatisfied they were, or they could be related to a past client that wanted to have a word with him about their family member (he’s gotten several cases of worried parents that tried bargaining with him to falsify a reading for their child so they could marry who _they_ wanted), or a protestor against his ethic among other equally headache-inducing things.

He smiles suddenly, bright and happy and _suspicious_ in every way that Yukio doesn’t want as he walks closer to him. At least the counter is still in the way, he thinks absentmindedly, deciding that it’ll help serve as some kind of defense if he needs to avoid a swinging punch or something of the like.

Small victories.

“I’m Kise Ryouta,” he introduces himself, stretching his arm out for a handshake.

Yukio narrows his eyes at the offering of a greeting, instead wanting to just get to the point. If he can avoid the yelling and threats of someone who doesn’t understand how being a Seeker works and that it isn’t a simple task with a simple solution, he will. He sighs heavily and reaches up to run his hand over the back of his neck.

“Look, I don’t know what complaint you may have,” he begins, ignoring the confused expression that manifests in the furrowing of the man’s brows, “but can’t it wait until-”

“Complaint?”

Yukio blinks. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Kise purses his lips. “No?” He tilts his head to the side, curious. His eyes flash with some kind of dark intent that Yukio is one hundred percent sure he wants absolutely no part of. “Do you get complaints so often that you have to ask that to all your new customers?”

Yukio slams his hands on the desk, leaning in closer to the idiot with the unnecessarily sharp tongue, glaring fiercely. Yoshitaka grimaces out of the corner of his eye, probably having anticipated Yukio snapping before it even happened.

“Do you have even an ounce of respect in any part of those gangly limbs of yours, or are you deliberately trying to piss me off, brat?” he practically snarls, and it feels really nice to let out his previous bottled rage on _someone_ , because simmering in anger, while definitely not a foreign concept to him, isn’t a pleasant experience at all. At least this guy is asking for it, so Yukio won’t feel bad later.

He takes pride in the startled look that washes over his features, the widening of his pretty golden eyes that still doesn’t manage to make him look ugly at all. It doesn’t take long for him to recover, and soon enough he’s giving a big fake smile that has his eyes crinkling shut.

“I don’t see why you would be getting mad if it wasn’t true,” he adds casually, opening his eyes to stare down at him in a way that's definitely supposed to make him feel small. His gaze is sharp and unfriendly. “I’ve been to Seekers who haven’t gotten any complaints at all. Their places were much nicer than here, too.”

Yukio somehow manages to put a lid on the urge to send this guy flying, instead settling for crossing his arms and staring directly into Kise’s eyes. “So, you decided that getting smart with someone you need help from is how you get your way? By being snide and haughty?”

He sees Kise swallow, but decides he doesn’t really care about his sparing his feelings right now. He’s pissed, and it’s his turn to speak. “Let me guess: you made a dumb ass decision and fucked up something with your soulmate, and now you’re desperate to find a solution to fix it. How many Seekers did you try before getting to me?” He narrows his eyes. “I bet they all failed you.”

Kise looks uncomfortable, his brows turned down sharply and a severe frown marring his features. He doesn’t step in to save face, though, doesn’t defend himself from any of Yukio’s claims, so he can only assume he’s painfully accurate.

Yukio gives him a once over, letting his distaste show clearly in his expression. “Good luck on your travels, because I’m sure as hell not helping you.” He turns around and walks in the direction of his room near the back of the building, announcing a final, “And get the hell out of my shop.”

He only manages a few steps before he hears a desperate cry of, “Wait!”

He decides to ignore him, because he can almost see his bedroom door and god he really wants to lay down and sleep for a while after the hell today ended up turning into. He’ll get another client eventually, one that will hopefully manage to both completely cover his heating bill this time and allow him to afford better meals.

There’s talking behind him, and he hopes that Yoshitaka is booting the cocky blond from his place so he can get some rest in peace. Apparently his luck has run dry, because he hears the thudding of quick footsteps behind him before Yoshitaka latches onto his arm and swings him around, chattering to him in quick, rushed whispers.

“Wait, _what?”_ But he can’t even get another word in edgewise before he’s being dragged back to the front of the shop with the blond who, for some reason, is _still there._ “Why haven’t you left here? Don’t make me call-”

 _“Yukio,”_ Yoshitaka tries desperately, curling his fingers around his shoulders and staying rooted in his personal space for far longer than necessary. “You’ve got another job! I got you another job and you probably won’t have to worry about another bill for a long time!” The last part of his sentence is noticeably much quieter than the rest.

Yukio squints suspiciously, for now disregarding the third person on the room. “What do you mean?” Uneasily, he tries his other question. “What did you just do?”

“All you have to do is find the String of Fate Kise had severed!”

Yukio wants to smack him.

“That’s impossible,” he says bluntly. He glances over at Kise, who immediately begins to fidget under his gaze. “You do know that, right? Once you get rid of your Strings of Fate, however many you might have, the connection is lost forever. Didn’t all of your other ‘professional’ Seekers tell you? There’s no way--”

“--our dear Yukio will stop until he finds a solution!” Yoshitaka cuts in, throwing his arm around his shoulders and shaking him slightly.

Yukio immediately shoves him off, glaring. “What the hell, Yoshitaka? It’s literally not--”

“--something you won’t do your best to solve for our friend here, right?” he interrupts again, smiling stupidly and there’s something he’s plotting that Yukio has yet to be clued in on. “I mean, he is going to be paying a lot of money for this, so you should work hard!”

Oh.

_Oh._

Yukio heaves out a heavy sigh of frustration, dragging his hand over his face. “Look, Kise,” he starts, ignoring Yoshitaka’s look of horror and not so discreet gestures meant to stop him from talking. “I’m sorry about whatever happened that made you want to sever your Strings of Fate and lose your soulmate, soulmates, whatever. But I can’t--”

Yoshitaka shoves a piece of paper in his face and he almost falls backward amid Yoshitaka quietly hissing at him, “Look!”

“I don’t care how much--!” he cuts off his sentence when he finally manages to steady himself again and fully focus on the numbers in front of him.

Yukio chokes on his own spit.

He must look unbelievably stupid staring at the amount written on it, because that--that’s a lot of Yen, _that’s a lot of zeros, one two three four five--jesus fucking christ who has that much money?_ He has to be kidding.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, clearing his throat awkwardly as he turns to look up at Kise with wide eyes. And the bastard is smiling like he just knows, the piece of shit, who does he think he is owning that amount of money?

Apparently (unfortunately), this is not going to be the last he ever sees of Kise Ryouta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m going to be using moriyama’s and kobori’s first names whenever i refer to them, bc the three of them have been friends for 5ever lmao. and anyway, being around each other since like, middle school, they’ve had family gatherings with all of them so using surnames would just be a mess tbh


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you’re going to try and flirt your way through this,” he says dryly as Kise yelps and nearly falls on his ass, “you can leave now and never come back. I’d certainly be happier.”

“No don’t take-- _do not take your goddamn shirt off what the fuck!”_

Kise pauses in front of him, looking as innocent as he isn’t with the hem of his shirt lifted up to flash his stomach. His hands are bunched in the fabric near his back and Yukio is two seconds away from nailing him in the gut just so he _stops._

It’s only been two days after Kise had first barged into his ( _closed_ at the time) shop, even though Kise had insisted on coming back the very next moment he opened shop, ready to start his impossible job. Yukio had literally kicked his ass out of his door, saying that, “Just because I’m not a famous or exceptionally gifted Seeker doesn’t mean I don’t still have other _clients._ ”

Which, well, he didn’t have any clients at the time (and he wasn’t even needed at his part-time jobs he did on the side sometimes), but Yukio wouldn’t give him that information; he had pride, goddammit.

So he simply manned the front counter lest any customers came in to buy useless things (unlikely), cleaning and shopping for his necessities when the time to close came around. The only excitement during that time had been chasing Yoshitaka out of his home when he stopped by for the sole purpose of shaking his head at him.

“Someone doesn’t want to be shown up by a snobby rich kid,” he had said, laughing from his safe spot outside the window. He would happily blame it all on Yoshitaka if he also wasn’t a little dazed at the thought of the income he’d be getting from said snobby rich kid.

People just don’t consider being a Seeker a legitimate business anymore the way they did when he first started out, and the void in Yukio’s pockets and bank account is painful proof of it.

Now Kise had returned, much to his disappointment (and mild anticipation), and the first thing he does is try and take his shirt off.

“But don’t you have to see the--um, the severed Path I have? Or, ‘See’ it,” he asks in confusion, putting the word in air quotes with his fingers. At least he isn’t grabbing at the back of his shirt like he’s going to pull it off anymore.

“Obviously,” he grunts out, watching him cautiously still, ready to knock him down at any given moment. He waves to the door that leads to his private room, the one where he actually holds his sessions and doesn’t sell snow globes for extra cash. “But don’t just strip in front of me, jesus christ. I'd rather start off with something more basic, like _talking_.”

Kise gives him a weird look, but then some kind of (misguided) comprehension crosses his features, a dangerous smile curling his lips. His brows raise slightly and his eyes fall half-way in a manner that would be more suitable in a bedroom than it would be here. Leaning down, he makes sure to give Yukio an up-close view of just how long his lashes are, the small, faded blemishes on his otherwise clear skin and the fierce intensity in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to say something that’s probably supposed to come out sultry, but Yukio is having just about none of that and hits his palm against his chest and roughly shoves him back.

“If you’re going to try and flirt your way through this,” he says dryly as Kise yelps and nearly falls on his ass, “you can leave now and never come back. I’d certainly be happier.”

He squawks unattractively and flails the slightest bit, turning to glare at him the second he gains his balance again. “That’s so mean!” he complains, loudly and irritably. “Would you really give up a paying job just because you’re too embarrassed to see someone shirtless?”

His face goes hot and his temper spikes. “I’m not embarrassed, you dumbass!” he shouts, swiping at his head hard enough for Kise to sputter in surprise. He looks like a kicked puppy. “How did you connect ‘embarrassment’ with ‘not wanting someone to walk in and get the wrong idea’?”

Kise holds onto his pout, reaching up to rub at his head and attempt to fix his ruffled hair. “Still…” he mumbles, but whatever rebuttal he wanted to spout must’ve died on his tongue, because he doesn’t add anything else.

He leads Kise through the side door, or, he walks to it and if he doesn’t follow, that’s his problem.

The room is small, much more so than the main area where people pay for their services and/or additional purchases. It’s nothing special, but Yukio likes it because it’s cozy, nearly always warmer than the rest of the place, and it’s quiet. His own room is, unfortunately, in immediate hearing distance of the busy highway, and he finds himself dozing off here more often than his own bed.

(It’s also why his neck is always unbelievably sore, and he has more backaches than normal for the average twenty-five year old. Yoshitaka reminds him of this at least twice a week.)

The only furniture there is two small chairs seated diagonally across from each other with a low, wooden, circular table between them. It looks decent because Yoshitaka had forced him to decorate it a little, with some pictures and plants and colorful wallpaper, and a bookshelf, even, saying nobody would feel comfortable in a room with white walls and only two chairs. Yukio complained the whole time.

Yukio lowers himself into the worn cushion of his own chair after Kise settles in, clearing his throat as he tries to start up a new conversation. He keeps it work-related, anyway.

“So, this one here,” he gestures to the dark blue ribbon looped around his throat, “is the reason you went and severed all of your Paths?”

It gets much more of a reaction than Yukio had originally anticipated. Although, decidedly, his poor choice of words combined with the fact that this is definitely a sensitive topic probably contributed to that a little. Or a lot. It contributed a lot.

“That’s none of your business,” Kise snaps angrily, subconsciously reaching up to touch the ribbon, his fingers curling almost protectively around it.

Yukio blanches at the explosive response, narrowing his eyes at his client. “It certainly is my business if you want any help finding that lost soulmate of yours,” he replies, surprised by how patient he sounds.

Having a soulmate is seen as completely natural, of course, and while living your life never having one or having no red or romantic Strings of Fate isn’t unusual either, it isn’t something society takes well to. People without soulmates, specifically ones in the romantic sense, are treated as anomalies through no fault of their own.

But sometimes, when people don’t want to know where their Paths lead to, or they don’t want the person or persons at the other end to find out about them, they search for a Seeker to have them severed.

Seekers, otherwise known as people with Vision, not only have the ability that allows them to view these Strings of Fate in plain sight, but can also cut them so the Path connecting people vanishes from existence. It causes inaccuracies; one may genuinely have a soulmate out in the world, but their soulmate could have severed their Path in a way that wouldn’t allow it to show up on other Seekers’ radars.

It is also the reason Yukio has so many pissed off customers.

He tries to explain this, how his job does not have pinpoint accuracy, but nobody ever seems to listen.

Yukio glances at the ribbon around Kise’s neck that he’s holding onto for dear life, and he pities him a bit. That must have been one hell of an unrequited or undesired love for him to want to go and sever it, even though his other Path was apparently requited still but a stranger out in the world somewhere.

Unfortunately, severing ties isn’t really the most sought after option not only because it’s looked down upon to neither have nor desire a soulmate, but also because it isn’t possible to cut only one.

If one is desperate enough to cut one specific String of Fate, they have to be desperate and willing enough to have them all cut.

Kise must have been very hurt and hopeless at some point in his life.

“As you probably figured out,” Yukio starts, mercifully allowing the other topic to drop and watching Kise’s fingers twitch against the skin of his neck, just because it’s something to look at, “once you cut your Paths, the piece still attached to you kind of.... manifests itself physically. So everyone can see. They’re called Strings of Fate but they really look more like ribbons.”

He wants to ask how much ridicule Kise must have went through since his severed String is in such an obvious place, protruding from the front of his neck, ask if he went about covering it up at all times, or if he faced it head on and let everyone see the result of what he had done without care of how people reacted.

“What you might not know, or what most people don’t,” he continues, flicking his eyes up at Kise’s face in preparation for his next reaction, “is that after it’s cut and shows up, it sort of… changes color, for a reason. Do you know why they change color?”

Kise shakes his head, but he looks more curious than he had before, and he’s kind of thankful. The haunted look in his eyes really doesn’t suit him.

“They change to a color that you would tend to associate most with your soulmate, a color that would remind you of them, a color that you’d think of when you see them. That’s why so many of the Paths that have been severed have a lot of different shades.”

His mouth drops open slightly, and his grip on the ribbon loosens noticeably. “That… that makes sense.”

Yukio nods.

Kise swallows tightly, his fingers curling again around the ribbon. He fiddles with it, flicking at the edges as he tries to muster something additional to say. Yukio waits, patiently, deciding to tread lightly on gently on this topic and not make the mistake he had before of plowing forward without regard to the severe emotional aspect of it.

There’s silence for a few more moments before he speaks up. “He… we weren’t meant for each other. Not in this universe, anyway.”

Yukio’s brows furrow at the admission, but he stays silent, waiting for the other to elaborate. Kise looks over at him, and it’s like he’s reliving something from his past with the way his gaze travels right through him. Yukio shivers.

“I was excited about it at first, because I thought for sure he would… he’d feel the same. The Seeker I went to checked for me, they let me See my own Paths. It was really cool! You guys look at stuff like that all the time, it was so pretty...” A forlorn expression sweeps through his features, washing away any previous excitement.

“I didn’t bother with the other one, the one I lost, but the one I was so sure would be there… it was, but… only my half was red, and the other wasn’t.”

Yukio winces. Mismatched colors usually meant that they were destined to be in a past life, that remnants from their souls and Paths in some previous time had gotten recycled in this new reincarnation of their souls. It’s just another random event that messes with the accuracy of a Seeker’s readings, and another reason why so many people are suspicious of them and their genuineness.

“I didn’t want him to find out, I was so scared he’d find out,” he explains, hands and voice trembling. “I was only fifteen, what did I know? So I got another Seeker, a friend of mine, to cut them all. She tried to convince me otherwise, but I was really stubborn.”

He pauses to chuckle dully, but it’s watery and not happy at all, and his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “That was nearly a decade ago. So here I am, because I really… I really want to find the person I’m actually supposed to be with. I want to be happy--with them.”

Maybe it’s because Yukio isn’t as hard and tough as he always thinks he is, maybe it’s because his soft side is more accessible than he’d like it to be, or maybe it’s because he felt his heartstrings get pulled just a little too hard from this random guy who must’ve really been messed up to willingly pour out his whole story of woe to someone he just met the other day. Whatever it is, Yukio doesn’t really know the reason, or dote on it very long.

What he does know is that something makes him reach out and gently place his hand on Kise’s shoulder, squeeze reassuringly, and lie right through his teeth just so that pained expression disappears from his face.

“We’ll find them,” he says, he _lies_ , because he wants to give him something to good cling to. “We’ll find your soulmate.”

And that small piece of hope lights up in his eyes, hesitant but bright, and Yukio later kicks himself for reaffirming the impossible.

“I promise.”

 

The guilt hits him about as soon as he expects, which is almost instantaneous. Lucky for him, Kise needs a few minutes in the bathroom to clean up, so Yukio has exactly that amount of time to let it sink in how much he just messed up and repeat a mantra of curses in his head until Kise returns.

Finding someone’s Path after it has been severed is genuinely impossible, and the fact that he’s promised Kise just because he felt bad for how sad he was was the dumbest decision he’s ever made.

While it may have made him happy for now, settled him down and equipped him with a sliver of hope that would keep him sated for the time being, it would only grow until he really believed Yukio was capable of literally making the impossible possible, which he most certainly was _not._

It was only going to end in disaster, and he wishes he had drilled that into his head before he had gotten involved with a sob story.

He blames Yoshitaka.

“You look very deep in thought, Kasamatsu-san,” Kise announces upon his return, smiling politely as he seats himself back in the guest chair.

Yukio merely grunts, waving his hand in a noncommittal gesture. “We need somewhere to start,” he says, and acts like he’s been thinking up a plan to work through in Kise’s absence instead of wallowing in a whirlwind of regret and expletives. He catches his gaze as he looks up, leaning his back fully against his chair.

“I hope you're ready for a challenge.”

A fire ignites in Kise’s eyes, bright and hot and scorching with determination.

“I’ve been ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully i will manage to stay in this trend of updating bi-weekly...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kasamatsu has to turn to an old 'friend' for some help, and realizes that Kise isn't so bad after all.

“Why are you here?”

Opening his front door to find Kise standing behind it isn’t at all what Yukio is expecting when he goes to leave his house that morning. He almost drops his keys in surprise, and Kise looks mildly startled as well to see him there, like it isn’t his own _house._

“Um,” Kise starts, looking down at him unsurely. Yukio narrows his eyes when Kise lets out an odd laugh. “Well, you said we needed to figure out a plan, so…”

Yukio stares.

“..here I am to help!”

His lack of response has Kise fidgeting, trying to smile amid the awkward air but it’s forced and looks entirely out of place. Yukio turns away for a moment to close the door behind him and lock it, stuffing the keys back in his pocket.

“I meant that _I_ was going to figure something out,” he finally says while turning around fully. He shivers when the winter air hits him, squinting and scrunching his shoulders up. “No offense, but Seekers have more knowledge about this kind of stuff.”

Kise apparently takes some kind of offense to that, like he wants to say something along the lines of, ‘Well apparently not because you’re a Seeker and you don’t know what to do’, but he quickly settles down and looks simply miffed. “But you told me this is something even Seekers have said to be impossible, so what’s wrong with some outside help?”

He looks far too pleased with himself by his response, so Yukio blatantly ignores him by walking around and past him. He gets to the end of the walkway before Kise easily manages to catch up with him, striding over with his long legs.

Suddenly, Yukio stops spins to face him. “Look, I’m going out of my way to try and figure out this mess you got yourself into,” he starts, roughly. “I’m visiting the last person on Earth I’d probably ever want to see again, because he’s the only one I can think of who might give us some kind of direction to go in.”

He realizes his slip up, the ‘us’ that he’s carelessly thrown into the conversation, like he’s already accepted that they were doing this together, as some kind of team or something. From the way two tiny dimples suddenly indent his cheeks right above his scarf, the bottom of his eyes creasing, he can tell Kise catches it too.

He doesn’t need to look so smug about it.

Yukio isn’t even entirely sure this whole thing is going to work out--he’s basically forcing through the impossible on the off-chance that something might turn up in their favor. He’s never been this reckless with his cases; always, he’s played on the safe side, warning customers of the possible repercussions whether the information is appropriately heeded or not.

Then again, that always seems to bite him on the ass; being cautious and honest never brings much more business his way. Maybe this is what he needs.

“Don’t get in my way,” Kasamatsu throws over his shoulder as he starts walking forward again, expecting Kise to leave, go home--wherever the hell that is. “You’re my client, so I’m going to do the job you hired me to do--I don’t have time to coddle you.”

He gets to the end of the sidewalk before realizing Kise hasn’t just up and left. Unperturbed, he’s about to cross the street when he hears the other call after him.

“But Kasamatsu-san,” he says, playfully, “you haven’t told me to leave yet.”

Yukio walks a little bit faster.

 

“So who exactly is this guy?” Kise asks a few minutes later, after a surprising amount of comfortable silence as they walk. “An old friend of yours or something?”

Yukio laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, sure. An old friend.” He feels Kise staring at him, confused, and decides to elaborate. “I don’t like the guy, so he’s not really a friend. He’s an asshole.”

Yukio turns to face Kise when he doesn’t get a response, and is greeted with the sight of the other openly gawking at him. “Not a--if you don’t even like him, why are we going to see him?” Kise asks, baffled.

“Because as much as I hate to say it, the bastard’s pretty smart, and he might be able to help us.”  He’s reluctant to admit it, but he isn’t going to limit his sources of solving Kise’s case just because of some not-entirely pleasant history with someone who can aid them. “It’s fine. I’ve been ignoring his calls for two years, anyway.”

Kise sputters. “Are you really sure this is a good idea? Does he even know you’re coming? _We’re_ coming?”

Yukio glowers. “The bastard will be happy to see me either way.”

 

The front door of the pristine shop doesn’t have old bells atop the frame like his own, but instead an electronic beeper that dings when it senses the door opening and people walking through. The inside of the place is nice too--there’s even some type of secretary tapping away on a computer at the front desk.

“Excuse me,” Yukio says, politely, walking up to the counter. “I don’t have an appointment, but--”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t see him right now,” he says before he can finish, without looking up at him. His voice trembles slightly, but he stands firm and focuses on his work. “He’s currently busy, and without an appointment, the waiting list is--um, well, long.”

Yukio purses his lips. Kise turns to look at him, and he looks mildly uncomfortable with the situation. “Could you do me a favor, then? Just let him know Kasamatsu Yukio is here, and wants to see him.”

“Sir--”

“Please,” Yukio asks, gently. “I--we’ve known each other for a while. He’ll know who I am.”

Yukio thinks about adding that it’s important, but he knows he doesn’t need anything more than his sudden appearance in the other’s home to bring him out. As much as he hates that it’s true, it’s the only thing allowing them move on with his client’s job on such short notice.

The secretary looks up at him, finally, fingers hovering over the keyboard. His eyes are big and brown, just a shade lighter than his hair. He looks a little intimidated by Yukio--he seems to unintentionally have that effect on people--but he holds his ground, still hesitant to call his boss out.

Yukio glances down at his nametag. “Sakurai-san, please. I don’t intend to cause trouble.” The man jumps slightly in his seat, round eyes stretching wide.

By some miracle, he gets through to the secretary, because he only hesitates for another second before nodding the affirmative. Rolling his chair slightly in another direction, he snatches up his phone, dialing a number and waiting for the other end to answer.

“You sure this is going to work, Kasamatsu-san?” Kise asks suddenly. He hums thoughtfully when Yukio turns to face him, staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, if you haven’t seen each other in so long…”

Yukio hates that he’s a little anxious himself, but for reasons entirely different than Kise’s caution. His relationship with the man goes far back, as far back as high school, when they’d been on rivaling basketball teams and Yukio could barely stand to look at him without a scowl. Somehow that had changed, and he managed to see him with new eyes, and it had been enough for their relationship to entirely change, from friendship to--

“If you’ll trust me a little,” he grouches, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, “and give it a few minutes, I’m sure he’ll come crawling out of his cave soon enough.”

“Is that so?”

Yukio jerks in surprise, the sound of the new voice simultaneously startling him and dredging up old memories he’d have rather kept buried. There are sudden recollections of happy ones too, of a warm body curled protectively, tightly, over his own, a hand just slightly bigger but narrower than his twining against his fingers, thin lips pressing gently against the back of his palm, then his neck, his lips--

By the time Yukio musters himself enough to turn around, he already knows that the lightest of blushes has been swiped over his cheeks, like all the blood in his cold hands has traveled up to his face. He glares anyway, frustrated at the memories piling up in his head when all he had wanted was to get in and out of here as quickly as possible.

His smile is about as sinister as Yukio remembers, lips stretching thin in a wide smile that just screams trouble, narrow eyes curving upward even further from the press of his cheeks. He doesn’t have his glasses on right now, probably having recently gotten a break from work and had been reading that stupid book he loves, because he isn’t nearsighted, just farsighted, and he--

Yukio stops. Gathers himself.

“Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?” he retorts, fingers curling in his pockets. “Imayoshi.”

His smile widens. “I can’t argue with that, Yukio.”

 

Kise seems to have sensed the second Imayoshi comes into the room that something is amiss, that the heavy, palpable tension in the air isn’t just his mind playing tricks on him. For some reason it causes him to stick much closer to Yukio, enough that there isn’t a second where his arm isn’t brushing against his own; it’s like he’s subconsciously anchoring Yukio back down.

He can’t find it in himself to shrug him away, either.

“So,” Imayoshi starts, and the sudden sound of his voice has Yukio tense all over again. Kise presses even closer to him, despite them being seated in different chairs. “Yukio-chan, you need _my_ help, is that right?"

Yukio grinds his teeth together. “You know what I said. And don’t call me that.”

Imayoshi hums. “Oh, but I don’t, because I didn’t quite hear you word it like that.” He leans forward in his chair, pressing his chin into his palm. “Two years of unanswered phone calls, and the first time I see you since then, all I get is a, “That huge head of yours might be able do something useful for once”?”

He sighs heavily, roughly. “Fine.” He sets his jaw. “I need your help.”

“No ‘please’?”

“I’d rather die.”

Imayoshi chuckles lowly, hand falling to rest flat on his desk. “How cold of you, Yukio-chan. My requests are very simple.” He pauses, considering. “But alright. You know I’ve never been able to turn you down.”

Imayoshi’s thin, slanting eyes open slightly, and he takes a moment to very blatantly trail his gaze down Yukio’s body, the parts that are visible from behind his desk anyway. He shivers, tightening his jacket around his torso and glaring off to the side.

“Kasamatsu-san,” Kise speaks up suddenly, his voice surprisingly hard and callous, “let’s find someone else to help us.”

Shocked, Yukio turns to look at him. What he finds is Kise staring ahead at the person who is supposed to be their source of possible new information, eyes narrowed and sharp. “If you’d just told me your old friend was a pervert, I wouldn’t have agreed with coming to see him.”

Yukio gawks. “Kise--!”

“Pervert?” Imayoshi parrots, not looking nearly as offended as he should be from the accusation. “I don’t see how you’d get that from me. Do I give off that vibe, Yukio?”

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation, despite the shock settled in him from Kise getting practically _protective_ over him.

Imayoshi looks offended only then, brows slanting into an exaggerated expression of sadness. “Can’t I appreciate someone I’ve missed?”

Kise blinks, still defensive but obviously confused. “Kasamatsu-san?” He looks over at him.

Yukio rubs at his temples. This is exactly the reason he’s been planning to avoid catching up with Imayoshi. He always tries to drag the most annoying headaches out from him for no apparent reason, other than the fact that he enjoys riling Yukio up.

“I only mean to be nice to my lovely ex-boyfriend.”

Kise’s mouth drops open and Yukio sighs loudly.

“Oh, did Yukio-chan not tell you?” Imayoshi inquires, leaning forward like he’s just confessed some kind of devious conspiracy. “I’m a little hurt.”

“Why would I divulge my personal life to my client?” Yukio snaps back, but his heartbeat has inadvertently picked up at the unwarranted confession--Kise _seriously_ doesn’t need to know something like this, especially not when he doesn’t know what his reaction will be to it. It’s not that he really _cares_ what he thinks, but there’s no need to reveal useless information.

Yukio narrows his eyes at the other, leaving no room for nonsense. “I’m here strictly for business--nothing more, nothing less.”

Despite being one to constantly switch between playing coy and then innocent a moment later, Imayoshi senses the seriousness in his tone and, for once, decides to go the more professional route with him.

“What exactly is it that you need?”

 

Kise must feel awkward standing in the middle of the room shirtless while everyone else is clothed.

“And you said you’ve checked already as well, right Yukio-chan?”

Yukio is still staring at the light blue ribbon hanging down from the center of Kise’s chest, significantly brighter than the other String of Fate looped around his neck. It’s… it vaguely reminds him of his old basketball team jersey, that Kaijou Blue holding a color separate from any blue he’s ever seen. But it’s slightly different, with a grayish tinge to it, and it bothers him that he can’t successfully pinpoint where he’s seen that exact hue.

It bothers him enough to forget who he’s with.

“While I agree that Kise-kun has excellent physique, I don’t think now is the time to admire it.”

Yukio flushes, jerking back so he can glare at Imayoshi. He’s smirking, just like always. “I wasn’t--”

“It’s okay, Kasamatsu-san, I’m used to it.”

His head snaps back to Kise, mouth falling open. He smacks his bare shoulder while Kise yelps in surprise. “Can you tuck your ego away for a bit, you brat?”

He sighs heavily, staring at the Path for another moment facing away again. “I just… thought I recognized the color somewhere, from something I’ve seen, maybe. It’s familiar.”

He’s about to let the topic drop when some kind of epiphany seems to hit Kise, his body straightening. He trains his focus onto Yukio, more specifically, somewhere on his face, and takes a wide step closer to him.

The sudden attention has him taking an automatic step back in response. “Kise, what the hell--”

Kise ignores him and leans closer, far too close for any kind of comfort. His own eyes flicker back and forth between his own, searching for--something, but he’s entirely too close to his face--

“Will you--!”

Kise leans back right before Yukio goes to push him away, and his client, lost in his own thoughts, grabs the ribbon protruding from his chest. He stares at it for a few seconds, before looking back up at Yukio, eyes sharp and intent.

Yukio takes a cautious half-step back, expecting his personal space to be invaded again, but Kise looks… fairly lost.

“I thought…” he tries, confused, rubbing the Path between his fingers as he contemplates. He dares one more glance back up at Yukio before admitting defeat to whatever he’s been trying to solve. A light sigh escapes his lips, and he lets go of the ribbon. “Nevermind, it’s nothing.”

“If I can interrupt,” Imayoshi tries again, and looks curiously between them. Kise still seems to be caught up in his own mind, lips pursed and brows furrowed, and Yukio turns his cheek from Imayoshi’s wandering gaze.

“I’ve already checked his Path,” Yukio interjects, looking back to stare irritably at the ribbon resting against Kise’s chest. “Nothing’s there, obviously. I already told him that it’s impossible to find the other end of a Path that’s been severed, that it’s never been done before, but he--”

“There has to be a way!”

They stare at Kise, now tuned back into their conversation. He looks unfathomably determined despite having been told, over and over, that he’s been deemed a lost cause. Even Yukio knows that Imayoshi is aware of the likelihood of Kise actually finding his lost soulmate. But Kise is persistent, willing to waste every last bit of his money and time to find this stranger.

It makes him angry, for some reason.

“As far as us Seekers know, there is no possible solution to reversing a Severed Path, as Yukio and, I’m sure, most other Seekers have informed you.” Yukio sighs in relief--at least Imayoshi is agreeing with him, for once.

“However--”

Yukio feels the beginning signs of an imminent headache coming on, knowing that this isn’t going to end well. Imayoshi has that lilt to his voice he knows all too well, his Kansai accent more pronounced than ever, which means he’s about to connive his way through a solution in his favor.

“--given my extensive resources and contacts--” Yukio sets his jaw as he carries on, “--I’m sure I could assist you quickly and efficiently.”

The bastard, his _ex,_ is trying to steal his damn client.

 

“So, perhaps I could take you on as my client, Kise-kun, if Yukio-chan is so unsure of his success rate,” he adds smoothly, turning to face Kise entirely and ignoring Yukio’s angry ‘I said to stop calling me that, asshole.’ “I’m quite confident in my abilities.”

“Nobody asked you!” he nearly snarls, glaring viciously at him. “If you’re not going to actually help, then--”

Imayoshi holds a hand up, and Yukio is more frustrated with himself for actually letting it silence him. He gestures to Kise--to _Yukio’s_ client--and watches him quietly.

Kise seems to hesitate, and Yukio’s eyes widen. _No way._ “But I don’t even know you,” he says, looking up at Imayoshi with furrowed brows. But he isn’t saying no. _He isn’t saying no._

Confused and frustrated, Yukio blurts, “You barely know me, either, you idiot!”

_Shit. Shit. Why would he say that? Isn’t he supposed to be trying to get Kise back on his side? Shitshit._

Imayoshi turns to him then, gaze unbelievably intense for reasons he can’t bother fathoming at the time. He swallows, because he doesn’t need to give him that look, he _knows_ he should be saying something so he doesn’t just lose his client to his _ex_ of all people, but it’s--

It doesn’t sit well with him. Being incredibly persuasive and even manipulative with his words is something Imayoshi does, and it’s something he does damn well, too. And that’s how he goes through life. But not Yukio. He doesn’t--it doesn’t feel _right_ to turn everything in his favor by excessively playing up his abilities.

“It’s entirely your decision, Kise-kun, but I’m just letting you know that I’m willing to take you on as my client. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable where you are.”

 _Asshole._ Yukio glares at Imayoshi, but he only grins distractedly, eyes still focused on Kise.

Kise purses his lips in thought. “Yeah, but.” He pauses. “I want Kasamatsu-san to do it.”

Yukio straightens in his seat, stunned. He misses Imayoshi turn to look at him sharply as he stares at Kise. He’d thought for sure Kise had been played right into Imayoshi’s hands, just like nearly everybody else.

Kise turns to him, his face set, determined. Yukio doesn’t know what to say.

“I want you to do it.”

There’s this--look in his eyes, sharp and mystifying like they were when they’d first met, but unlike that time, he isn’t looking down at him. He’s looking at him like they’re on the same level, side-by side. Equals.

Yukio feels his face heat from being on the receiving end of it.

(Imayoshi, unbeknownst to them, looks between the two, hard and calculating, like they’re in another world apart from his and all he can do is watch from the outside.)

“Well, I know when I’m beat,” Imayoshi says from the background, and Yukio turns away from Kise. He’s not entirely sure if Kise stops looking at him, though.

Despite saying that, Imayoshi boldly and--entirely in contrast to his words--slides his own card across his desk and toward Kise. “But if you ever do change your mind, feel free to give me a call--or just stop by, if you’re around.”

Yukio tries not to let it bother him when Kise, after a moment, takes the card. He doesn’t let it get to him as an insult (or _hurt,_ of all things), because--of course Kise is going to take it. Kise should take any help he can get for this disaster of a problem he has on his hands, and Yukio has no right to take offense when he’s the one that _brought_ them here in the first place. Does he honestly expect Kise to make another bold declaration that he only wants help from him? Is he an idiot?

He looks away when Kise pockets the card.

 

Imayoshi, now that their past is in the air (not that he’d let it stop him if it wasn’t) calls out to Yukio as the two of them are leaving, coy and as daringly flirtatious as he remembers, “And Yukio, feel free to stop by and visit whenever you start missing me again. I miss you terribly sometimes too, don’t you know?”

Yukio’s lips curl in disgust, and he snaps, “As if,” over his shoulder as he heads for the door. Kise quietly follows behind.

There’s a dark echo to his voice when Imayoshi calls after them, “And here I was, trying to help you on my own free time--I’d hoped for some kind of consideration--a thank you, maybe.”

Temper on the rise, Yukio stops in his tracks with fire in his eyes. “Maybe if you weren’t demanding it, I’d actually think about it.”

“I’m not demanding anything.”

Yukio spins around. “When you go around sounding nasty like that, how would you not be?”

Imayoshi merely grins in response, watching him silently for his next move. “Wait outside,” he tells Kise, practically storming back over to Imayoshi’s desk. He glares down at him, at his smug, smirking face. “Get up.”

The only victory he gets out of it is the look of genuine surprise that washes over his features, grin falling quickly. “Yukio--?”

“Get _up._ ”

Amid his confusion, and caution in his eyes since he can’t see Yukio’s intentions like he usually can, he slowly stands. He still has that slight height advantage over him, and Yukio is sure he’s going to be permanently bitter about it until the day he dies.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you asshole. I’m only doing this because you were actually mildly useful, as annoying as it was, and because I’ve been ignoring you for two years and I don’t want my memories clogged with thoughts of you wallowing in self-pity from my absence.”

And then Yukio stretches his arms out wide. “If you try and do anything more, don’t think I won’t knock you out.”

Imayoshi looks genuinely shocked, watching him through the long slits of his eyes. It doesn’t take long, however, before another smile slowly unfurls over his lips. He steps forward, eying Yukio like he’s delectable prey before winding his long arms around his back.

Yukio wants to complain about how tightly Imayoshi has pulled his body against his own, but his hands thankfully don’t wander like he’s expected them to, so he lets himself be held, and--well, he _is_ the one offering this hug.

With a reluctant sigh, he returns the gesture, wriggling until he can reciprocate by sliding his own arms around the other’s shoulders. His face must look awfully pained; he’s always hated feeling like he’s inadvertently given into Imayoshi somehow.

But then Imayoshi does something he doesn’t expect at all. He, without any underlying motives, makes to help him.

“Try and start from Kise’s beginning,” Imayoshi tells him, face tucked close to his neck. Yukio stills. “Before his Path was cut, and who severed it. You’re sure to find some clues there.

“If there’s anyone who can fix something--someone--that seems unfixable, it’s you.”

Yukio pulls away with wide eyes, watching Imayoshi’s features soften imperceptibly in a way he hasn’t seen since the last time they held each other’s hearts in their hands. Stunned, nostalgia leaking into his eyes and burrowing deep within his chest, he lets Imayoshi lean forward and press his lips gently against his forehead. His lungs tremble when his hand carefully, delicately, holds his cheek in his palm.

Yukio wants to tell him to stop, to leave the past where it belongs, but he can only watch as the other pulls completely away, wishing him a sincere, “Good luck,” before he walks to the other door out of his office.

He doesn’t look back again when the door closes softly behind him, and Yukio is left alone in the silence of the room.

 

When they finally leave the shop, Yukio, obviously ruffled, paces ahead to the sidewalk, eying the street corner where the bus stop they’ll be needing to take to get back home is. He turns back when the presence by his side is lacking, and sees Kise still lingering in front of the door, hands in his pockets.

He’s about to announce his annoyance, _You can call the asshole when we get back, get the help I can’t provide on my own, stop standing around like a lost puppy,_ when Kise pulls a card out of his pocket.

With wide eyes, he watches as Kise casually throws out Imayoshi’s personal card in his own trash can, looking nonplussed as he stuffs his hands back into his jacket to shield them from the biting air.

He turns back quickly, before Kise can see the wide smile stretched against his mouth.

 

The bus and following train and bus ride back from Tokyo to Kanagawa is long and fairly quiet, filled only with the sound of Yukio’s music in one ear, his other earbud offered to Kise who happily bobs his head to different tunes.

Kise barely speaks the whole ride--that is, until, they’re mere steps away from Yukio’s home.

“So, you and Imayoshi-san were together?”

Yukio groans inwardly, wishing this conversation would have stayed behind in Tokyo where he’s planned to leave it--forever, he hoped. “Imayoshi may be a conniving asshole but--he doesn’t tend to lie. At least, not when there’s something he can take advantage of.”

It’s already dark out, and the temperature has dropped a good fifteen degrees since they’ve last been walking by his house, earlier in the day. Just pulling his hands out of his pockets to hold out his keys has him shivering again.

“Did you two end on a bad note?” Yukio ignores him and grabs his mail. “It seemed kind of like that, but also like it might not have? Was--?”

“Kise, I’ve known you for like a week,” he grumbles, snapping his mailbox closed. “I’m not going to tell you my backstory right now.”

When he glances back, Kise looks visibly ruffled, like Yukio has offended him by not divulging his past relationship, or that he’s mistaken Kise’s innocent curiosity by immediately writing his questions off as too prying.

Yukio hesitates, allowing himself a moment or several of nostalgia. Despite how much Yukio gets worked up whenever the other is mentioned, they hadn’t--the two of them hadn’t parted on a bad note. Not in early college, when they’d first somehow fallen into each other and eventually drifted apart after, and not even the second time they’d found something in each other, years later.

His heart swells and aches. He doesn’t hate Imayoshi… doesn’t hate Shouichi. They just… weren’t-- _aren’t_ right for each other. They’ve tried to become something twice--against all odds of today’s world, two Seekers looking for love in each other. Yukio thought the two of them had found it, both times, he’d truly, sincerely felt…

But it wasn’t right. Seekers just weren’t meant to find solace in love.

Yukio thinks of the irony, of having a client with an unrequited Path, still looking for a lost love in his other, and himself, someone born without any Paths and eventually abandoning the idea of it, of the tender, pure intimacy that comes with falling.

They both thought they’d gotten ahold of a true soulmate in their lives, only to unclasp their hands and find them completely bare.

Despite himself, he allows himself to humor Kise. Today has taken more out of him than he’s going to admit, and fond, warm memories are still quietly pressing in his mind. He’s tired.

He pushes his key into his door. “...But if you’d like to know,” he goes to admit, quietly, pausing while unlocking his door. “...no, it… it didn’t. We didn’t.”

It feels kind of odd, the situation, the implications of the way they’re standing. Kise having insisted on walking him home, and now he’s lingering outside his door as Yukio is about to say his goodbyes.

It’s like a teenage movie, where a new couple ends their first date with a nervous, blushing kiss before they part ways, and Yukio would shyly touch his lips once the door closes and he’s out of sight, while Kise wouldn’t stop smiling until he finally manages to fall asleep.

Yukio rolls his eyes. He needs to stop getting sucked into Yoshitaka’s romcom movie nights.

Kise isn’t so terrible, he realizes. He’s a bit of a brat, he’s nosy and persistent and clashes loudly with his own personality, but. It’s not entirely _bad,_ he supposes.

“It ended… peacefully,” he finishes, breathing in deeply (shakily) so he can pull himself together and finally push his door open.

“I’m glad,” Kise responds, voice quiet, soft.

Yukio looks back at Kise before the door closes, and sees him smiling widely on his doorstep. “Goodnight, Kasamatsu-san. I’ll see you again soon.”

Yukio finds himself giving a small smile in return, lips curling ever so slightly. “Goodnight, Kise. Get home safe.”

His smile brightens further somehow, and he bows lightly before turning around and making his way back toward the bus stop.

When Yukio closes the door behind him, he doesn’t touch his lips to feel the way they’re tilted upward, but he still feels the distinct press of a smile against his cheeks as he leans his back against the door.

He thinks about the last time he’s managed to smile so openly at someone so new to his life, and wonders if Kise is still grinning that bright, happy grin he’d left him with on his doorstep.

He wonders if, like the movies, he keeps up that smile until he does fall asleep.


End file.
